


and i'll be your safety

by benwvatt



Category: The Resident (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, late night phone calls with your WIFE, married conic!!!!, they're so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:28:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25425418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benwvatt/pseuds/benwvatt
Summary: "Just, um, with everything that happened to my mom-”Conrad would be fine, Nic promised herself, and she tried not to miss him but the bed was so much colder without his weight against it.Conrad needs surgery and spends a night in the hospital. Nic is by his side the entire time, keeping him company.
Relationships: Conrad Hawkins/Nicolette Nevin
Comments: 11
Kudos: 54





	and i'll be your safety

“We do this surgery thousands of times a year,” Mina coaxed, the words slow. “I’ve done a few hundred myself.”

 _Thousands of people. Thousands of operations,_ Nic repeated in her head.

“The mortality rate is so low, we barely even acknowledge it. 0.3 percent. Conrad will be fine.” Mina smiled. “I tell you, that’s the _average._ You know his odds with a surgeon like me?”

“Brilliant, internationally lauded, double-board certified Mina Okafor?” Nic took a deep breath, wiping away a tear with her shirtsleeve. “Yeah, I trust you. Of course I do. Just, um, with everything that happened to my mom-”

“This is nothing like that,” Mina replied. “The circumstances are completely different, I promise you.” She places a hand on Nic’s shoulder, a rare act of empathy.

Nic had sensed something was wrong with Conrad’s health ever since he’d crawled into bed with a hand at his side, wincing. His skin was tender to the touch, but unbruised. He’d groaned at the idea of going back to Chastain after a long shift 一 “how is it possible that we have a house and we barely spend any time within these walls?” 一 but he’d conceded. He knew she’d lost a lot of people in her life, and he wasn’t about to become another one.

An ultrasound confirmed it.

“I have gallstones?”

Nic nodded, leaning over him in the exam chair. Her hair draped down onto his shoulders. “Y’know, it’s a simple diagnosis, and a very common occurrence among people our age-”

“But you didn’t get them, I did. I’m getting old!” He grimaced. “Soon my hair’ll turn grey and I’ll start watching the weather channel for fun.”

“Uh, we had sex on the kitchen counter just a couple days ago,” Nic said, running her fingers over his hand. Conrad shot her a smug look. “And last month, I had to talk you out of getting a fifth tattoo. These aren’t weather-channel, grey-hair kind of activities. You’re in the prime of life, I tell you-

“Liar.”

“-and you’ll live for many more years-”

“Not necessarily!”

Nic laughed, joy bleeding into her intention. “You better. I need someone to sit on the front porch with me and play bridge for hours.”

“You don’t even _like_ bridge,” Conrad protested. His voice grew softer. “Listen, it’s not just that. I dunno, I never saw this surgery coming. If anything happens to me, I don’t want you to worry, and they’re saying they want to operate tomorrow, which is really sudden-”

“Hey.” The words were hush, and Nic tilted her head gently as she spoke to him. She hadn’t thought he would anticipate so much, but it was typical after what’d happened with her family in the past. “You know you’re going to be fine, right? We’ll have you home in no time. You shouldn’t worry about me. I’ll be okay, I promise.”

She leaned in to kiss him then, cupping his cheek in one hand, before pushing his chest against the bed so he wouldn’t shift to meet her. “Mm, honey, don’t sit up. It’ll hurt you.”

 _“Fine_ ,” Conrad muttered into the embrace, holding onto her arm to brace himself. “Can’t even kiss my wife properly. What has this world come to?”

She giggled, pulling away. “You know, you should blame the gallstones for that.”

* * *

Nic fell asleep in the on-call room, unwilling and unwanting to drive home in the dead of night. She hadn’t slept alone in a while, and she felt awfully young in a twin mattress meant for one. On a chair nearby, her pager and phone sat 一 just in case, she told herself, that anything happened and Conrad needed her, or his doctors did. She winced, thinking about flashing red lights and code blues.

Nic didn’t like entertaining those thoughts, but they came with the territory. She’d shake the paranoia off, and yet it crept back like dangling ivy.

He was _fine._ Not like “damn, he’s fine”, which he was, of course, what with the way his jaw tightened when he had something important to say, or how he wore a suit the way it was meant to be worn, and sometimes when he shot her that soft, crooked smile she felt like they’d just met all over again-

Okay, that wasn’t really the point. She was too easy to distract. Conrad would be fine, Nic promised herself, and she tried not to miss him but the bed was so much colder without his weight against it.

She groaned. Her thoughts raced past her, leaving her brain behind in the dust. She was spinning all over the various axes of fear and wanting, and the special secret third axis of not wanting to be afraid but not _so_ unafraid that she let her guard down (could feelings come in 3 axes? Probably. Nic didn’t know enough about emotional geography to disagree.)

Next to her pillow, Nic’s phone buzzed, and she leapt for it. Oh, she was praying he was alright, resisting the urge to jerk out of bed, pull the door open, and fly out into the hallway.

**[messages]**

**conrad, 1:26 am:** hey are you awake?  
**conrad, 1:26 am:** i can’t sleeeeep

She breathed a sigh of relief, hit ‘call’, and let electricity do its trick.

“Hi,” he said, gently.

Nic smiled as she pressed the phone to her ear. “Hi, Conrad.”

“So, uh, it turns out that I don’t, in fact, know every inch of this place. Never spent the night in the surgical wing, y’know? And my last few patients were actually right, the watermelon jello is _worlds_ away from orange or strawberry.”

Nic faked a gasp. “You, of all people, caught eating hospital food? Sugary, factory-produced desserts?”

“Don’t remind me,” Conrad groaned. “I’m in the hospital, okay? I’m weak, and my dietary options are severely limited.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Whatever you need to tell yourself.” Nic collected her jacket from the bedside and stood up then, on her way to better places.

“Hey, don’t judge me!” He laughed across phone lines, larger than life. “You try spending a night in a hospital bed, about to be cut into. See if you don’t want to have some comfort food then.”

Nic shrugged, the door creaking as she pulled at the handle. “Well, I would, except _my_ gallbladder cooperates with the rest of my body just fine. It’s a shame that yours couldn’t do the same.”

“A damn shame.”

There was a pause as she opened the door, Nic’s eyes still adjusting to hallway lights that never seemed to dim. She paced past the rooms one by one until spotting number 8998, and then she knocked on his door.

“You’re not as sneaky as you think.” Conrad’s voice came over the phone, and she heard its echo in the room. “Nic, I know it’s you.”

Conrad waited, then continued. “I’m really glad it’s you.”

Nic walked in, smiling, and promptly hung up. She could see Conrad’s hair was sleep-tousled, and a blue-patterned hospital gown was draped over his shoulders. She sat down by his bedside, still quiet with late-night thoughts she couldn’t tame or identify, and said hello to him again.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he murmured, voice heavy. It happened when he’d been awake too long.

“Yeah, I’ve got this patient who’s supposed to sleep before his laparoscopic surgery tomorrow,” Nic said, stroking his cheek.“Thought I’d come and keep him company.” She moved the trace of her fingers to his hair, running them through.

“Hmm, makes sense. Is he a good patient?”

“Oh, the best. He might be my favorite,” she replied. “Well, except he keeps talking about jello, and, of course, you’re a doctor, you’re aware sugar’s not good for people at all-”

“Hey, don’t come after me!” Conrad chuckled. He sat up in bed, facing her. “I like what I like.”

Nic tilted her head. “Okay, each to their own. Some people like reasonable food, and others enjoy popsicles and jello like six-year-olds at a birthday party.”

“So judgmental,” he scoffed. “And coming from someone who likes pineapple on pizza, as if I should even take your opinion seriously….”

“You’re so mean.” Nic smiled, her brown eyes meeting his. “Can’t believe I married someone with such fundamentally different opinions. I mean, pro-jello? Anti-Hawaiian pizza? What next?”

“I like what I like,” Conrad repeated coyly, slower this time. “And I like you most of all.” He reached out to run his hand over hers, skimming his forefinger over the thin silver band of her ring. “Even if you filled our fridge with pineapple on pizza, I’d have to be okay with it.”

“So romantic.” She leaned in to kiss him, not wanting to go. “Get some sleep, okay?”

Conrad kissed her, smiling into the embrace. He was warm against her skin where he held her; he’d do this thing where he cupped Nic’s cheeks every time, and she knew his touch so well. “But I’d rather stay with you, y’know,” he whispered.

“I have work, and you have a surgery to get to in the morning,” Nic said, still curled up against his side. She wasn’t particularly keen on leaving, although she knew that was sensible. It was far easier to savor her time with him than it was to replicate anything he made her feel. “I love you, okay?”

She picked up her jacket from the covers, then pulled the stray hairs out of her face.

“Hey, I love you too,” he said, quiet. “I’ll be fine tomorrow, Nic. And I’ll be fine the day after. Every day. I’ll be _fine_ until we retire and we lose our minds, with nothing to do all day.”

“Nope. Not a chance. I’m going to be an amazing bridge player when we’re seventy. It’ll be like our pool games all over again.”

“Bridge is definitely an old-people, grey-hair, watching-the-weather-channel activity. Just saying.” He smirked.

“Get some sleep, Conrad.” Nic left the room slowly, casting a glance back at her husband and his nighttime silhouette. He looked so young and endearing in that hospital bed, waiting for life to happen to him instead of leading the charge.

He was going to be fine, she reminded herself again.

Nic fell asleep alone, and it occurred to her that she was lucky to find it strange. She’d spent a lot of nights stealing Conrad’s blankets and starfishing across his thousand-thread-count sheets; spent a lot of 4 AMs waking up to hear his soft snores, dozing back to sleep with his rhythm next to her. It was a remarkable thing, her new normal.

It was a fortunate thing indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! Comments and kudos are always amazing. Also, I'm thinking of adding a second chapter after Conrad's surgery, so let me know what you think!


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